The Path to the Sun (The Fallen Shadows Trilogy)

by Kimberli Bindschatel

  He rose to his feet and looked over the edge of the boat. He could swim in white water. He’d done it before.

  “I will take you.”

  Kiran spun around.

  It was Leikela. Kiran didn’t know what to say, how to thank her. He simply returned her nod and it was done.

  The canoe was built for two paddlers with an outrigger attached to one side, which was made to skim the surface of the sea for stability. Kiran looked out over the choppy sea, then to the canoe.

  The girl smiled and gave him a nod of confidence. They dropped the tiny craft into the water, climbed aboard, and paddled hard, keeping their bow turned toward the crest of the waves.

  “Why did you agree to take me?”

  She gave him a hint of a smile. “If I return alive, my bravery will bring honor.”

  “If you return alive?”

  She nodded. “It is a full moon. The dark spirits will be few.” She broke her rhythm for a moment and he turned to face her. “I could see you meant to swim.”

  He turned around and dug his paddle into the water.

  As they approached, the massive rock wall grew before his eyes, swarming with seabirds darting in and out of crevices on the jagged face. He had hoped to find an incline that was terraced, like the canyon where he and Roh had hiked. But the face was a sheer vertical for as far as they could see.

  “You’re sure this is the place?”

  “It is as Lu-paia said.”

  He craned his neck and looked up at the cliff towering above, his heart in his throat.

  He’d have to climb.

  Chapter 33

  As the tiny canoe rolled in the sea, and the waves crashed against the rock wall throwing a white spray high into the air, he stared up at the jagged cliffs, overcome with terror. He felt like telling Leikela of his fears, but he knew if he did, he would panic. In a strange way, it felt comforting to be faced with a simple choice. Climb or go back. Persevere or give up. It made him see his goal with greater clarity and honesty than he had ever experienced before. He had to get to the top of that cliff.

  “We’ll ride in on a wave and you’ll have to jump as I bring the canoe about,” she shouted. “I won’t be able to hold it steady.”

  He took a deep breath and nodded. If she misjudged the wave, the canoe would be smashed into the rocks. If she couldn’t get him close enough, he’d drown in the churning surf.

  On the next incoming wave, she dug in hard with her paddle and kept the canoe pointed forward as they rode the crest toward the wall. He slipped his pack onto his back, grabbed hold of the sides of the canoe, and rose to his feet, trying to keep his weight low until the right moment. The wall rose up before him, closer and closer, until she yelled, “Now,” and without a thought, he launched into the air and smacked against the wet rock face, his heart hammering in his chest. The white froth soaked him as he slid down the slimy, algae-covered surface, groping for a handhold. His feet were underwater before his left hand clamped onto a crevice. He grabbed hold of a nubbin with his other hand and pulled himself up until he got his foot on something solid. The ocean surged and a mound of churning water pushed from below, engulfing him, then drew back, its force threatening to pull him from his hold. He had to get higher. And fast.

  He looked straight up the wall to the cliff above. His throat constricted and he gasped for air. He thought back to the climb in the canyon and Roh, sitting on the ledge above. Take it steady, he had said. Kiran clamped his teeth together. Steady. Persevere. One step at a time. He wedged his toe into a crack and pulled his body up with his right hand, his left searching for a new hold. When he found one, he hesitated a moment, stretched against the wall, gripping the rock above him at full reach. The waves pounded below his feet. He took a breath and pulled himself up farther. Sweat ran from his forehead and down his neck. He found another spur for his right toe, then raised himself another length. He was one step closer.

  Gripping the rock, he looked over his shoulder, blinking the salt spray from his eyes. “But how will I…?” His heart sank. They had made no plan, no arrangements. Leikela was paddling out to sea. “When will you come back for me?” he hollered, but his words were drowned out by the pounding of the waves. She simply waved with her paddle and continued on. He turned back to face the rock. He couldn’t think about that now.

  He tested each foothold with light kicks and tugged on each handhold—cracks, spurs, tiny ledges—to be sure they were solid. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake. One slip would send him to the bottom of the wall. He ascended, one slow movement at a time, never looking down, cutting back and forth across the rock face, all the while repeating, like a mantra: persevere, persevere.

  The climb became a blur of endless rock, its textured surface etched with figures and faces—Bria, Roh, Aldwyn—speaking to him from the shadows. At every rise, every step, they were there, urging him onward.

  At last, he reached a wide ledge and sat perched, high above the sea as waves crashed far below. He slid the waterskin over his shoulder and gulped down half the contents, then took off his pack and rubbed his sore shoulders.

  A giddy sensation came over him and he leaned out over the drop and stole a glance to see how high he had climbed. The sea was over fifty feet below. His stomach clenched and his head spun. He shoved his back against the wall. What were you thinking? Don’t do that again!

  At that moment, from far up the cliff, came a deafening crack. A mist of scattering pebbles showered down around him and a rock the size of his boot went whizzing past his ear, accelerated toward the sea with a low whistle, and smashed into the rock below as he looked on, transfixed. Then a hail of tumbling rock came crashing down around him, louder than thunder. He rammed himself against the sheer rock face, his arms covering his head, as heavy blows pummeled his hands, thudding into his neck and shoulders and whacking against his back. He was sure the whole side of the cliff was collapsing and he was going down with it.

  Then all was silent. For a moment, he was too stunned to think. He clung to the ledge, paralyzed with fear. He took several deep breaths, trying to slow the pounding in his chest.

  He knew he had to move. He resisted the urge to look back down. He looked up. He simply had to find a way. The answers were there. He knew it. When you reach the peak…

  The top of the jutting ledge was twenty-five feet above him, the last segment rearing up so steeply he had no idea how he could possibly make it. Sweat ran down his neck. He took a few deep breaths. Get on with it, he told himself and slipped his pack back on.

  When he looked up again, he saw a path of handholds as clear as if it had been drawn. The summit was within reach. Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed a hold and crept up the sheer rock face, moving like an overgrown spider, until he was just below the final, jutting ledge. He reached up as high as he could, but couldn’t grip the edge to pull himself up any farther. He tried to shove his hand into a crack in the rock, but it was too narrow. His strength pushed to the limit, his fingers gone numb, he needed something solid he could hold onto. If only Roh were here to help me. Then he remembered. Roh’s knife. He slid the blade from his boot and shoved it into the crack.

  Barely breathing, he pulled himself upward as his legs dangled uselessly in space below him. His foot found a nubbin to push farther up. One more reach and he swung up and over the ledge.

  He lay with his head in the gravel, numb with relief. There was no place higher to go. He had made it. He had climbed to the top. Relief washed through him, leaving him light-headed and weak, as if he had used up the last reserve of energy within him.

  When he was finally ready to move on, he reached for the knife, but was barely able to touch it with his fingertips. He tried to wiggle it from the crack, but it slipped from his grasp. “No!” he screamed as it hit the rock wall and bounced outward, spinning round and round until it dropped into the frothy sea below. Instantly, he hated this malevolent and lonely place. What had he been thinking? How foolish to think he
had accomplished anything. Roh was supposed to be here, by his side, and Bria holding his hand. Now he was here, alone, angry for all that the quest had taken from him. Would it ever end?

  He looked out over the sea. Lu-paia’s boat was out of sight. He was at the top of a rocky cliff, by the edge of a sea, farther from home than he could ever have imagined, with no idea what to do, where to go, where to turn. He didn’t even know if he had arrived anywhere worth going.

  He knew only one thing. He wasn’t about to sit here, waiting for the sun to lead him on. Whatever was here, he would to face it. He stood up and headed into a copse of trees.

  Not far in, the trees gave way to an open meadow of lush green grasses, resplendent with wildflowers, purple and orange and yellow. Above, a raven soared, calling on the wind, cur-ruk cur-ruk. On the far side stood a stone archway covered in ivy. His spirits soared. There was something here. He had found something. An entrance. He hurried across the meadow and through the arch into what appeared to be a courtyard. To his left was a small cavern, to the right, against a rock wall, was a fountain, gurgling with life. He halted, his heart pounding in his chest. A great pool of glorious reflection… Could it be? Beside the pool was an altar, on top of which was a Pyletar. His breath caught in his throat. At its pinnacle was a sparkling stone cradled in a thin iron basket, just like the one in the Sanctuary on the Mount. Kiran trembled, overcome with joy. Had he found the dwelling place? At long last? He had imagined this moment a thousand times.

  He went to the altar and bowed in reverence. A tiny pile of autumn leaves swirled in a spiraling dance at its base, then died as suddenly as they had begun, settling on the surface of a shallow puddle, distorting the surface. Then he saw it. At the base of the Pyletar, carved in the wood. An X. His heart stopped. How…how could that be? He shook his head. But it can’t be… He dropped to his knees and ran his fingers along the mark. In the back of his mind, a voice echoed: the world goes on… a big round ball. Had he come all the way around the world? Was he truly in the Sanctuary on the Mount, the same place he had visited that fateful day, so long ago?

  A voice, low and raspy, smothered the silence. “What are you doing here?”

  Kiran’s throat tightened. He spun around, rising to his full height. He met the gaze of a pair of eyes so dark, so intense, that he stumbled back a step. A barely perceptible gasp escaped his lips. “You’re…”

  Standing before him was Elder Morgan.

  Kiran blinked, but there was no mistaking it. He glanced around the Sanctuary, trying to get his bearings. Of course this was it—the sparkling pool of water, the ivy-covered archway—now, green with life.

  “Answer me, boy! What are you doing here? How’d you get past the bridge guards?”

  “I…” Kiran glanced toward the archway and the bridge he knew was beyond.

  “You wicked Javinians have desecrated the sacred Sanctuary for the last time!”

  “Elder Morgan, it’s me.”

  The man took a step closer. His eyes grew wide. “Young Kiran?” His hand went to his chest as his mouth dropped open. “The rains have come. But you…it can’t be.” He stepped back, lowering his eyes. “So you’ve faced the Voice.”

  “I sought the Voice. But I…” Kiran heaved a sigh. “I didn’t find what I expected.”

  “The Great Father is ever surprising in His infinite Grace. And now you have returned, with His blessing.” He looked around the sanctuary. “Where is Deke?”

  “Returned? No. I came by sea.”

  “What?” He glanced in the direction of the sea. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying…” Kiran took a deep breath. “I thought this was, well, I got to the edge, but it wasn’t. You see, the Script of the Legend is just a story, an allegory. There is no Voice.”

  Elder Morgan reeled backward. “What is the meaning of this?” He looked around the sanctuary. “What’s going on here?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Where is my son?”

  Kiran looked down at his feet. “Gone. Everyone’s gone but me.”

  “Everyone?”

  Kiran’s eyes met his. “Deke lies in his grave, sir.”

  Elder Morgan blinked twice, then swallowed. “What happened? Who put him there?”

  “No one. I mean, we buried him, but his death was, well…” Kiran took the Pyletar from around his neck and handed it to Morgan.

  The man rolled the pendant between his fingers. “All for nothing,” he whispered.

  “No, no, it wasn’t all for nothing.” Kiran shook his head, trying to get his thoughts in order. “Aldwyn told me to seek knowledge. Elder Morgan, I have. I’ve learned so much, so many things we had wrong.”

  Morgan’s eyes snapped back to Kiran. “Wrong?” He shook his head. “Enough.” A tiny blood vessel pulsed in his temple. “This is nonsense. All of it.” Morgan took a long breath, then stepped forward and laid his hand on Kiran’s shoulder, his face a mask of virtuousness. “You are a very confused young man,” he whispered, pity in his dark eyes. “Come with me now and never speak of this again. Serve the Father, with humility, and everything will be all right. So long as you never speak this blasphemy again, we won’t forsake you. As with Old Horan.”

  Old Horan. He had been chastised, teased, an outcast among the villagers. Was that to be Kiran’s fate? But I know the truth!

  As though he’d read Kiran’s mind, Morgan said, “This is heresy.”

  Kiran looked past Morgan to the archway. “But Aldwyn told me—”

  “Ah, yes. Aldwyn. This all makes sense now.” He rocked back on his heels and looked Kiran up and down. A wry grin came to his face. “I didn’t want to believe it. But here you are, proof in flesh and blood. Aldwyn’s bastard.”

  Kiran stumbled backward. His mouth went dry. “Aldwyn is…Aldwyn is my father?” He reached for the rock wall to steady himself. The pulsing gurgle of the stream echoed in his head and his legs started to shake. His eyes dropped to the ground, searching for any insight, any memory, anything that made sense.

  “Where have you been hiding all this time? With that Javinian whore mother of yours?”

  A chill ran through Kiran. He tried to respond, but his voice crackled in his throat. It was true. He knew it. Aldwyn. Kalindria.

  “He thought his plan was so clever, sending you.” Elder Morgan shook his head. “And he thought once the rains came you could stroll into the Temple and announce you’ve returned, is that it?” He leaned forward and hissed through clenched teeth, “I know what you seek.”

  Kiran swallowed hard. “I seek the Truth.”

  “You don’t know what Truth is. I had in my heart to accept you. But you lack the conviction of real faith. You were offered the test and failed.”

  “You knew about that?”

  “You’re nothing more than a heathen.”

  Kiran took a deep breath, trying to find calm, and in that suspended moment, between exhaling and inhaling, when the breath left his body, realization dawned. He pulled his shoulders back, thrust his chin forward, and looked Morgan in the eye. “I know what you fear.”

  “You know nothing.” Elder Morgan pulled back. He straightened his cloak. “No matter. Aldwyn has already reaped the punishment of his sins. And you will too.”

  “What’s happened to Aldwyn?”

  “The Great Father sees all. You will suffer His wrath.”

  “Tell me what’s happened to Aldwyn!”

  “The prophecy will be fulfilled. You will see. When my son returns.”

  “I told you, Deke is dead.”

  “Lies. All lies.” Beads of perspiration clung to Morgan’s forehead.

  “Your son is dead.”

  “Not another word,” Morgan growled.

  Kiran stepped forward, his face inches from Morgan’s. “Your son died because of his stubborn faith.” He was too angry to stop. “He was clinging to it like a child at his mother’s leg.”

  “Lies!” he spat. “My son lives! He ha
s to.”

  “You have the missing scroll,” Kiran realized as the words left his mouth. The hierarchy of the Temple. The one page in the Scholar’s book that Kiran had not recognized. In the absence of the seventh elder, a son shall take his place. An Elder’s son. “You’re the one who had a plan all along.”

  “You want all the glory for yourself!” Morgan’s eyes flared with rage and Kiran saw in those eyes what he should truly fear. Not the Mawghuls, or wind demons, or witches, or headhunters. The demon who stood before him was more menacing than any he’d ever faced. “I cannot let you tell these lies.” Morgan turned toward the archway and shouted, “Guards! Guards!”

  Kiran’s thoughts flashed back to the Kingdom of the Kotari and the Guardian, his guards locking him away in the cellar. He glanced toward the sea. He couldn’t go back that way. He glanced toward the pines where he and Jandon had been. He turned on his heel and ran. Needles scraped at his face as he pushed through branches. Morgan was right behind him. He squeezed through the crevice in the rock wall, then scrambled up the incline, around the corner, and up onto the ledge, sidestepping to the farthest point.

  Morgan got one foot on the ledge and faltered. He clung to the rock wall, his face gone pale.

  Kiran took a breath. “What’s wrong? Afraid of heights?”

  Morgan clenched his teeth together. “Your plan will never work. You’ve got nowhere to run. You’re a heathen bastard and always will be.”

  Kiran looked across the chasm. The lone pine was gone; the rock it had clung to had crumbled away. “I am the son of an Elder.” He turned back to face Morgan. “The time of fear and ignorance is over. My parents had to suffer your oppression, your bigotry, your shallow-minded hatred because of some old, misinterpreted words.” He spit over the edge. “You say I don’t know what Truth is,” he thundered on. “But I know this. It’s not what’s written on some ancient scroll that matters. It’s what’s in your heart.”

  “You dare to challenge the Way? You’ll never be a true Toran!”